


Learn from the Sky

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Crinkle Dot [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Background Relationships, Fake AH Crew, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Technically, the first time Michael gets kidnapped after moving to Los Santos is at the hands of the Fakes.





	Learn from the Sky

Michael's minding his business driving home from work and some dickhead hops into the passenger seat because the power locks on his car don't work and Michael's an idiot.

The guy's got perfect hair and a pleasant smile on his face while he points the gun in his hand at Michael's.

“Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting,“ he says, bright and cheery when he realizes Michael's on speakerphone with his mom.

She's reading some news article she found somewhere talking about the incredibly high crime rate in Los Santos as a not-so-subtle hint for him to move back home for a bit. 

“Gotta go mom,” Michael says, careful not to make sudden movements and keeping his hands where the guy can see them. “I'll call you back later.”

“She's right, you know,” the guy says, unnervingly cheerful and perky for someone with a gun. “There are just loads of criminals just running around all willy nilly here.”

What the actual fuck?

“Wow, really?” Michael says, hands tightening on his steering wheel, wondering if maybe his mom has a point after all. “I hadn't realized.”

The guy hums, something that Michael suspects is a bastardized version of a pop hit, and gestures at the intersection coming up.

“Take a right here, please.”

Michael does as he's told, following directions until they end up somewhere in the industrial district. Warehouses with boarded up windows quietly rusting away. Goddamned dogs barking somewhere in the distance and Michael finally catches a glimpse of one of the freight trains he always hears but never sees.

“Oh, this is it,” the guy says, still smiling as he gestures at a building.

Michael pulls over to the curb and turns the car off, handing the guy the keys when he makes a little _gimme_ motion with his hand, and gets out with the guy when he clears his throat pointedly.

“You're going to need your little kit,” the guy says, tipping his chin to Michael's bag in the backseat. “Things are kind of...messy inside.”

Michael looks at the building, just like all the other warehouses around here. Slanted roof and faded lettering. Busted streetlight out front that may or may not be deliberate. Couple of cars he can just see parked around back.

Like something out of a movie, the kind where some idiot goes to check a strange noise and gets brutally murdered for his trouble. 

And this is where the dickhead wanted Michael to drive them, all cheerful and perky and _Jesus fucking Christ._

Michael's mom is going to be so fucking impossible when he gets killed here and she gets to be all, _“I warned him, but did he listen to me? Not one fucking bit and just look what happened!”_

“You want to tell me what I'm getting into here?” Michael asks, wishing he hadn't taken his jacket off for the drive home with the way the temperature's dropped since the sun went down.

The guy hums again, something strained to it as he gestures for Michael to go first with a little wave of his gun.

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” he says, and Michael bites back a sigh because that probably wouldn't be smart in this situation, now would it.

They head around back and Michael glances toward the cars. One of them looks like it's been rolled a few time, sitting low on its suspension, broken windows, mangled bumpers, and missing fender. Sees sees the shattered windshield on one, cracks spider-webbing outward from a single point.

“Sniper,” the guy says, when he sees Michael looking. “Not the best really, bless their heart, but they tried.”

Michael's eyebrows go up because the spot the bullet hit - 

“You'll have to meet ours sometime,” the guy says, something sharp to it. “He's much, _much_ better.”

Michael doesn't know what to say to that - the implication that he might leave here alive - but from the amused twist to the guy's mouth, he notices.

“If you can keep a secret, that is,” he adds, and Michael, okay, Michael is tired and more than a little annoyed.

“Cross my heart and hope to die?” he asks, some bite to it that has the guy outright grinning at him, something appraising to the look he gives Michael.

“Ooh, _feisty_. We like that.”

 _Christ_.

Thankfully the guy doesn't have any other creepy, cryptic things to say when they reach the door. Shots Michael a look before angling his body to keep Michael from seeing whatever the code is when he punches it in.

Stepping inside, Michael realizes someone's put a lot money into the place. That it isn't just another rundown warehouse from a bankrupt company wasting away out here. 

The place is sectioned off, mechanic bays and some sort of workshop at the back. Racks and cases with weapons and God only knows what off to their left and rows of desks with computers and other equipment nearby.

Off to their right - 

“Jesus Christ,” Michael mutters.

Someone's cleared the area for the handful of injured people he can see. Various injuries from what looks like broken bones to gunshot wounds. 

There's someone else seeing to the injured, movements brisk and efficient and _exhausted_. A familiar enough sight, really.

More so, when he looks up and Michael fucking recognizes him. Fucking Phil from work who's transferring out of Los Santos at the end of the month to be close to his parents or some bullshit. 

Nice guy. Quiet, keeps to himself for the most part. Showed Michael the ropes the first week before he got his assignment and honestly seemed...not boring, okay, just. Sure as hell not fucking _this_.

“He needed another pair of hands,” the guy says. “Mentioned you by name, which is pretty high praise coming from him.”

Michel slides a look at him, sees the exhaustion he's doing a damn good job of hiding himself. Strain to the smile he's been wearing like a mask this whole time.

“Sure,” Michael says, already stepping towards Phil and the injured he's treating. Figures he won't get shot in the back for doing what the guy brought him here to do, because talk about being counterproductive. “Coming from a guy who has pictures of his plants in his wallet, that means a lot to me.”

He hears the guy laugh behind him, but tunes it out when he gets to Phil who fills him in on what's going on. Leads him over to a kid trying to keep their blood inside where it belongs and looking annoyed at having been shot. (Fucking relatable, actually.)

“Try not to kill them,” Phil says, deadly serious as he claps a hand on Michael's shoulder and heads back to the bickering idiots.

Michael looks down at the kid who looks back. So very young and stupid, and sighs.

“Tell me where it hurts,” he says just to be an asshole, and gets to work.

It's ugly and messy and none of the people he treats complains. Just sit there and do what he asks, this same little light in their eyes. Stubborn fuckers every single one of them and that sticks in his head as he moves from one patient to the next.

Phil leaves sometime around midnight. Gives Michael a _look_ , before the guy shuts the door after him and Michael - 

He's past tired, well into exhausted and that's not good really. 

The injured are either sleeping or resting quietly and the others just watch when the guy takes Michael over to an office of sorts.

There are model rockets and framed blueprints on the walls. A little table tucked into a corner with a model of the solar system on it - 

“That's my orrery,” the guy says, odd little smile on his face when he looks at Michael. “A friend got it for me.”

Okay?

“Nice,” Michael says, because really, what do you say to that?

The guy's acting like there aren't people a few rooms away with gunshot wounds and other injuries. Like they clearly aren't criminals- like he didn't _kidnap_ Michael.

Fucking _model rockets_ , what the fuck?

“Michael Jones,” the guy says, and Michael's attention snaps back to him because he hadn't addressed Michael by name before now.

Must have gotten it from Phil, sure, but until now - 

“I trust you understand that if you tell anyone about all this, well. It wouldn't be the best idea, you know.”

No fucking shit.

“I figured, yeah,” Michael says.

Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out, and goddamn, he's so fucking tired to be thinking that.

“Can I go?” Michael asks, trying not to think about what happens if the guy says no.

Thinks Michael won't keep his mouth shut about this, might just run to the cops and spill what he knows – which, honestly isn't much, but he knows where this place is, and that - 

“Yes,” the guy says, “but we'll be watching you.”

Michael stares at the guy for a long moment, and then snorts, because Jesus fucking _Christ_.

“You practice that in front of a mirror?” he asks, because what the hell, why not at this point really.

The guy stares at him for a beat, and then looks around as though there's anyone else in the damn office with them and asks, just above a whisper, “How did you know?”

Michael resists the urge to facepalm because _no_ and lets the guy lead him back the way the way they came.

Stops Michael with a hand on his shoulder before he walks out of the building and hands him a fucking business card.

“Thank you,” he says, honest and sincere in a way that hurts to hear.

Michael swallows, eyes sliding away from his and shrugs.

“Yeah, well. Thanks for not killing me. Means a lot.”

The guy laughs and says, “Don't make me regret it!” and shuts the door in Michael's face.

Michael stares at the door, takes a few steps back and looks at the building. Rundown warehouse like all the others out here from the inside, whole lot of trouble on the inside.

========

Michael has no idea if Trevor ever told Ryan about kidnapping him way back when after B Team got a little fucked up dealing with a rival crew.

But the thing is, when they officially meet, Trevor gives no sign of ever having met Michael before, let along shoving a gun in his face, so -

You know, maybe not.

Maybe it's some unspoken rule with these idiots? A social faux pas to bring up the fact that the guy shaking your hand and telling you how nice it is to finally meet you once actually kidnapped you? Who the fuck even knows with them.

Still, Michael thinks about telling Ryan when the idiot's getting so worked up about about a little incident that happened earlier that day that he's pacing. Long strides, breathing a little rough because he's still fucking healing and Michael knows reminding him that oh, hey, Los Santos isn't the safest city around won't help.

Not with Ryan telling Michael to take his safety more seriously. That he can't just open his door to every Tom, Dick, and wanted criminal in the city just because they happen to be shot or stabbed or otherwise fucked up, fuck's sake, Michael - 

“Alright, asshole,” Michael says, stepping in front of Ryan who seems hellbent on wearing a groove in the floor of Michael's place, look at how much better he's doing and everything. “First of all, I've _never done that_ , second of all - “

Ryan's looking at him with these _eyes_ , all worried and scared because someone grabbed Michael after work. 

Pulled a gun on him, hands shaking and terrified and desperate, made Michael drive to some rundown office building slated for demolition and his buddy who'd gotten into a fight with people he probably shouldn't have. 

Pale and bleeding and so, so small despite the fact he probably had a foot Michael. 

Couple of no-name criminals in a city that spits on people like them, and what was Michael supposed to do? 

“Second of all,” Michael continues, anger bleeding out of him because he gets it, alright? He does. “Second of all, who do we both know who broke into my place to bleed all over my furniture?”

Ryan blinks, like he'd forgotten that bit. Opens his mouth like he's going to defend himself, use some lame excuse because he's an idiot and a dork and just real dumb for someone so smart. Or maybe, and the odds are actually decent on this one, use that as a reason why Michael should take the Fakes' offer of finding him a new place to live.

Somewhere with better security and _blahblahblah_ like Michael hasn't already said yes. Isn't waiting for the paperwork to go through at work for his new promotion and working with Jack and Gavin on finding a place he can afford with the pay raise when it kicks in that they can all agree on. That won't leave Michael feeling indebted to anyone, even if they won't see it that way. 

“I don't know!” Ryan says, throwing his hands in the air like he's wracking his brain trying to remember if he's heard anything about some other asshole without a working understanding of personal boundaries and shit. Frowns, eyes narrowing. “Was it Gavin?”

That's actually a good guess. (Accurate as hell, too, but Michael promised Gavin not to rat him out to Ryan on that one, so.)

“I'm talking about you, you dumbass,” Michael says, lips twitching at the look of sudden realization on Ryan's face.

“...Oh.”

“Yeah, 'Oh',” Michael mimics, grinning at the annoyed huff Ryan gives him because Michael's never been kind when he does his impression of Ryan. 

Ryan sighs, and something about it tugs at the little black lump that's Michael's heart because this idiot, okay. _This idiot._

“He was scared,” Michael says, wanting Ryan to get this, to understand even though some part of him already does. Has to, because he's not that much of an idiot. “He was scared and did the only thing he could think of - “

“Michael - “

“ - and the safety was on the whole fucking time.”

Michael may not be a fan of people waving guns in his face - seriously, who the hell is? - but he's had the basics down for a while now. Knows how to tell when some idiot – or just a scared kid – leaves the safety of their gun on thanks to a couple of friends he grew up with who became cops. (There's a bit of irony in there somewhere, or maybe it's a metaphor. Michael doesn't really give a shit either way.)

Ryan's staring at him.

“What?”

“He wasn't going to shoot me,” Michael says, remembering the poor kid's stuttered apologies after Michael patched his friend up, so stupidly young both of them. “He just needed help.”

Something harder to come by in Los Santos than anywhere else Michael's been. Most people here only out for themselves, stepping on everyone on their way to wherever it is they think they're headed. 

“Michael,” Ryan says, looking like he doesn't know what to do with Michael some days. “You - “

“I'll be careful,” Michael says, reaching out to put a hand on Ryan's shoulder, nudging him towards the couch because he's doing better sure, but he's not a hundred percent yet. Keeps pushing himself more than he should, and this isn't really helping. 

“More careful,” he amends, when Ryan looks like he thinks Michael's just humoring him right now. 

Which, he's not really.

Michael's very much aware things could have gone a different way earlier, that the kid could have been one of the stone-cold killers this city loves so much. Could have seen Michael as a useful enough tool, but something of a loose end, still. Could have put a bullet in his head the moment he was finished helping his friend.

And just because it hadn't, doesn't mean it won't some day. 

Still, it's not like Michael can just say no when someone comes to him needing help like that kid. That he could have turned his back on Ryan when the asshole showed up at Michael's place all that time ago. That he's going to stop now just because the Fake AH Crew have put some kind of claim on him and people are bound to notice.

“I promise,” Michael says, because Ryan doesn't look like he believes him, which is bullshit because the fucker's being a major goddamned hypocrite but you don't see Michael calling him on it, now do you? “I'll be more careful if you are too, asshole.” 

Oh, wait. 

“I - “

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael says, because Ryan sees himself as the last (only) line of defense between his crew and anyone looking to touch one of them. Always throwing himself between them and trouble and ignoring the part where they've never asked that of him. “You're an idiot, I get that. Just. You know, fucking _try_ , okay?”

Best anyone can do in this city really, and that's all either of them want.

========

The thing Gavin and Jeremy do from time to time doesn't really count as being kidnapped in Michael's opinion.

Not when one of them will randomly pop up and poke him in the back like they're holding a gun on him and say things like, “Hands in the air, this is a stick-up!” because it's a Sunday and Michael's at an ATM getting cash. 

“Fucking hell, really?”

“That's what they say in the movies, isn't it?” Gavin asks, stepping back to let Michael turn around. “I've always wanted to say that.”

Michael squints at Gavin who is looking far too awake this early in the morning. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and disgusting, really.

Michael's getting to know Gavin and Jeremy a little better since the two of them seem keen on sticking their noses into Ryan's business. Making sure Michael's not the “love 'em and leave 'em sort” according to Jeremy, but really, they're just nosy bastards.

The way Ryan talks about them, fond exasperation and no little bit resignation, they've always been like that. Fearless little bastards with no sense of boundaries and protective as hell of their weird little family.

The thing about it, though, is that he's learning that Ryan's not the only idiot who doesn't look after himself the way he should. That that little trait seems to be a common thread with the Fakes as a whole, and Gavin's one of the worst offenders.

“Have you even been to sleep yet?” 

Gavin shrugs, gaze wandering away from Michael's to land on that dumb little Blista he loves so much parked down the street.

“...Yes?” Gavin says, turning it into a question towards the end as though he's genuinely unsure of the answer but knows Michael's feelings on the matter.

“Right,” Michael says, running a hand through his hair as he watches Gavin. 

Restless energy running through him that has him fidgeting a little where he stands, eyes flicking from spot to spot as he tries not to let Michael see how wired he is. Coffee and energy drinks that he might as well just inject into his veins when he's working on something, and goddamn this little idiot.

“I was headed to get some kolaches,” he says. “You want to come with me?”

Gavin perks up because he's mooched some off Michael before. Might as well take him to the source so he can pay for his own.

“They only take cash,” Michael warns.

It's a small shop, family-run, and usually Michael makes sure to have cash on him for his Sunday run down there.

Gavin cocks his head, and smirks before brandishing his “gun” at Michael.

“Gavin - “

“Michael, no,” he says, chastising tone to his voice. “You're doing it all wrong.”

Michael sighs as he holds his hands up, and lets Gavin prod him over to the Blista.

“Are you really kidnapping me for fucking kolaches?”

Gavin hums, bright grin on his face when he opens the passenger door for Michael, so polite for a kidnapper.

“They're very good kolaches, Michael,” he says by way of answer, and honestly, he's not wrong, so.

“Fucking incredible,” Michael mutters, because _really_.

========

“Ooh, kolaches,” Ryan says, face lighting up as he catches sight of the box Michael's holding. 

Gavin laughs around the one he has stuffed in his mouth and wanders off to do Gavin things with a little wave.

Michael rolls his eyes and fends Ryan off with his shoulder until he can set the damn box on the coffee table. He takes a seat on the couch and watches Ryan, something warm and stupidly fond in his chest because Ryan has standards when it comes to kolaches it seems. Muttering to himself as he roots through the box looking for an acceptable choice and honestly, this is the guy the city's so fucking scared of?

Still half sleep, hair this ungodly mess, and wearing some stupid shirt one of the others must have gotten him with a cartoonish version of the Vagabond cackling madly in front of an explosion. (At least Michael hopes that's the case, otherwise he's going to have to talk to Ryan about it.)

Ryan finally finds The One and turns back to Michael, chewing happily.

“I thought you had 'shit to do' today,” he says, words garbled but Michael can hear the air quotes just fine even so.

Michael shrugs, because he did, but getting kidnapped like this kind of makes the errands he was planning on taking care of seem unimportant. Things he can do another day, because this right here isn't so bad. 

“Eh,” he says, smile tugging at his mouth. “It can wait.”

========

Jeremy's just a horrible human being all around.

Will do things like break into Michael's place even thought they've talked about that shit, and shakes him awake somewhere around four in the morning.

“The fuck do you want?”

Jeremy's _smiling_. All pent up energy like that stupid lapdog one of Michael's aunts had when he was a kid. Tiny and loud and annoying.

Watching Jeremy babbling about Geoff and some new cars he got while he all but bounces around Michael's place, Michael can't help but notice the similarities.

“Jeremy.”

“We're going for a ride!” he says, and Michael's brain stumbles.

“...What?”

“Come on, come on, Michael Jones. Get dressed, Gav's got everything set up, we're going to be late!”

Michael stares at Jeremy for a long, long moment, certain he's dreaming this whole thing up because what the fuck?

But no, because Jeremy sighs and starts pushing Michael towards his bedroom, hands warm and real on his shoulders as he shoves Michael along.

“Hurry up. Who knows what Gavin might do if he gets bored.”

That - 

It's a legitimate concern, and dream or not, Michael doesn't want to find out the hard way. He gets dressed and meets Jeremy back in his living room and lets the little bastard guide him downstairs to the horrific thing he calls a car.

Might as well have vandalized that sweet little X80 of his with its new paint job.

“Jesus, put the poor thing out of its misery already, I can't stand to see it suffer like this.”

Jeremy makes an annoyed sound because he thinks orange and purple actually look good together, and hell, why not throw in some yellow while he's at it?

“Shut up, she's beautiful,” Jeremy says, running a hand over the X80's hood before hopping into the drive's seat. “Also get in.”

Michael sighs, looking over his shoulder at his building and the bed he left behind.

Jeremy honks the horn, and Michael sighs, Hating himself just a little as he slides into the passenger seat, because why. Why does he do these things?

Jeremy doesn't seem to notice Michael's train of thought as he turns on the radio and starts singing along to whatever song is playing as they head out of the city.

North-ish from the look of things, sky lightening as the miles go by and the scenery goes from big city to the suburbs to scrub country.

“The hell are we going?”

Jeremy grins as they blow past a group of eighteen-wheelers traveling in a convoy. 

“There's an old airfield out here,” he says, and pats the X80's steering wheel fondly. “Plenty of room to open her up, let her run.”

That's nice, but Michael doesn't see what it has to do with him, really. 

At least not until they reach the airfield and Jeremy stops beside Gavin who's waiting for them and leaning against an Adder.

Not the fastest car around anymore, maybe, but Michael's always appreciated the way it looks. Muscle to it for something as fast as it is, and supposedly handles like a dream.

“Michael boi!” Gavin calls, a little too smug when he sees the way Michael's looking at the damn Adder. “Care to go for a test drive?”

Michael looks at Gavin, all sunshine and sweetness like he didn't steal one of Geoff's new cars. Looks to Jeremy, who's just annoyingly smug, like he's not Gavin's accomplice and Michael's erstwhile kidnapper.

The X80's far and away the fastest thing out there these days, will absolutely leave the Adder in the dust, but Michael's not interested in winning any races at the moment. Would give a hell of a lot to be behind the wheel of that Adder.

“I mean, sure,” he says, catching the keys Gavin tosses to him. “Might as well, right?”

========

Ryan sidles up to Michael. 

Eyes sliding left, sliding right, to make sure they're alone, and leans down to whisper, “I have a Zentorno.”

Michael looks at him, sees the smile on his face. Like some kid with a secret he wants to share, all excited and shit.

“In your pants? And here I thought you were happy to see me.”

“No! Yes?” Ryan frowns, because he's an idiot. “Wait, I mean. I don't have a Zentorno in my pants, but I am happy to see you?”

Goddamn, the man's an idiot.

Loves his bikes from that shiny little nerd bike he has from that shitty sci-fi movie sequel to the stupid thing with the skulls on it “for the aesthetic”, sure. But he's he's got a special spot in his heart for his Zentorno. 

Fast little car Michael's seen on the news during a high-speed chase, all sharp and sleek like a shark zipping through the streets of Los Santos or some shit.

“Good for you,” Michael says, because he's not about to make this easy for Ryan. 

And Ryan, he _sighs_. Face in his hands and clearly despairing of his life choices, which you know, only fair really.

“Michael,” he says, voice muffled by his hands and horrible life choices.

“Yes, Ryan?”

Another sigh, familiar blue peeking through Ryan's fingers from where he's sneaking a look at Michael.

“Why are you like this?” he asks, like it's not his own fucking fault.

Michael takes pity on Ryan because the guy's just kind of sad like this. Pathetic, even.

Pats his shoulder and leans in to whisper, “Sure, I'll look at your etchings,” and cackles at the defeated sigh from Ryan.

========

Yeah, no.

The thing Gavin and Jeremy do from time to time have nothing on shit like this, that's for damn sure.

Michael's arms are bound behind his back and his shoulders _ache_.

“A million dollars, but - “ Gavin's saying, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling above them like this is just another one of his little games.

Like he didn't get shot earlier, the makeshift bandage Michael had slapped on him before the goons grabbed both of them stained red. 

Michael regrets, a little, letting Gavin snatch him up off the street to play with another one of Geoff's cars at the airfield. Jeremy already waiting when they pulled up, something about coming off a job for the Fakes and needing time to wind down, so why not race unbelievably expensive cars around an old airfield?

Michael clenches his hands, focusing on the way his wrists sting – torn skin from the rough handling these guys seem to specialize in.

Tries real hard not to think about Jeremy taking a bullet to the chest before Gavin pulled Michael to cover. Gavin's frantically hissed, _“Vest, Michael, he's still wearing his vest!”_ keeping Michael from doing something stupid when these fuckers showed up out of nowhere, guns blazing.

The door to the room they were thrown in opens and a pair of the goons from earlier walk in.

Idiots, really.

Walking around like they own the damn city. Shiny little guns and mean eyes and so fucking small in the grand scheme of things.

The goon in front walks over to Gavin, looming over him because that's what guys like him do. Play-act at being big and tough when hey have the upper hand, let whoever they think they have under their heel squirm.

“Free,” he says, something satisfied to his voice that Michael's not a fan of, honestly. “Boss wants to talk to you.”

Gavin looks at the guy, gives him a lazy once-over, and smirks.

“So you're the errand boy today then, Ricky?” he asks, and of course the little shit knows these guys, of course he does.

The guy scowls, hand going to the gun at his waist like he's going to finish the job, just fucking kill Gavin right then and there, but doesn't.

Breathes hard through his nose, eyes moving to Michael, this _look_ in them Michael doesn't like.

“Keep talking like that, your friend pays for it,” he says, a bully through and through. “You want that, Free?”

Gavin raises an eyebrow. 

“Who, him?” he asks, like he has no damn idea who good old Ricky's talking about. “We're not friends, Ricky. Barely know the bastard.”

Oh, well okay then.

Michael raises his eyebrows when Ricky looks at him, this little scowl on his face like he thinks Gavin's lying to him.

“What? I can't fuckin' stand the asshole.”

Ricky gets this suspicious look to him, head cocked to the side. Michael stares back because he's not lying just as much as Gavin is.

They're not friends, exactly, and God knows Michael hasn't gone and shared his life story with the little shit. There are definitely times Michael cannot fucking stand Gavin and the shit he pulls, all wide smiles and cocky grin and no goddamned common sense.

“Then why - “

“I patch those fuckers up,” Michael says, tossing in a sneer just for the hell of it. “You think they keep me around for my sparkling personality?”

...And now Ricky's looking at Michael thoughtfully, gaze flicking towards Gavin for a moment. Maybe thinking he can get the poor idiot civilian in over his head here to flip on Gavin and the Fakes if he plays his cards right. (Or, you know, forces the issue.)

“Oi!”

Ricky snorts, looking over his shoulder where a pair of goons are lurking and waiting for orders. 

“Get him up,” he snaps. Glances at Michael as the goons pass by like he doesn't quite buy what he and Gavin are selling him, but hey, he has all the time in the world to figure it out since no one knows where they are and all.

Michael waits for a bit until he's sure he doesn't hear anything outside, and then a bit long just in case these guys are even a little bit smart.

There's no actual moment when he goes _A-ha, now is the perfect time for this bullshit!_ when he sets to getting out of the zip ties because of course they sprang for the heavy-duty ones. He's not as flexible as he was when he was a kid, hell even a few years ago, but he's not such a piece of shit he can't get out of this mess.

Just, you know. It might take a few minutes.

========

Tweedledee and Tweedledum bring Gavin back a few hours later. Toss him in and _loom_ when Gavin pushes himself into a sitting position, wall at his back.

There's more blood on him – from exacerbating his injury or something new, Michael can't tell just yet. 

“Boss wants answers, Free,” Tweedledee says, derisive little sneer on his face. “Give 'em to him, or your buddy here goes next.”

The smart thing to do here would probably be to keep his mouth shut. Just sit there and look like the helpless civilian he's supposed to be. All meek and and shit.

But then Tweedledum smirks when he looks over at Michael. Trying to act big, _tough_ , when all it does is show how much of an asshole he is. 

“I'm from Jersey, you fucks. You think two-bit shitbags like you compare to what we have there?”

Michael isn't even talking about the criminals, is the thing. 

Tweedledum scowls, makes like he's going remind Michael who's in charge here, but Tweedledee barks out his name, calls him to heel.

“We'll be back,” Tweedledee says, mouth twisting a little when he looks at Michael. “Hope your memory improves before then, Free.”

The idiots slam the door behind them, like everything they know about being a big-shot comes from the movies. All dramatic posing and cliché threats and fucking toddlers throwing tantrums shit.

“Christ,” Michael mutters, shifting around to look at Gavin, who's looking back at him with this little grin on his face.

“That wasn't very smart, Michael,” he chides, like he has any room to talk. 

Michael rolls his eyes and makes his way over to Gavin. “Shut the fuck up.”

Gavin looks like shit, which. 

You know. 

Not too far from the way he normally does because he's an idiot who acts like he's invincible half the time. Doesn't need to bother with things mere mortals do like sleep and food.

Gavin's eyes light up when he realizes Michael's hands are free, zip ties little more than shitty bracelets at the moment.

“ _Michael_.”

“You owe me new shoelaces, asshole,” Michael says, checking Gavin over, angry at the bruises he finds, but grateful there's nothing worse. 

Gavin hums, leaning on him a bit as he plots.

“They're not very smart,” Gavin says, looking at Michael. “And I _am_ injured.”

Michael frowns, confused by the upwards lilt to Gavin's voice – the little eyebrow waggle he throws in when he sees Michael's frown.

“There's no way that's going to work,” he says when realization hits because no one's that dumb outside of movies.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” he says. “They're _really_ not that smart.” 

========

Michael is starting to think there's something in the water in Los Santos.

There's really no explanation as to why these idiots fall for Gavin's stupid plan.

Practically come running when Michael kicks up a fuss about Gavin dying, spouting medical bullshit from medical dramas on television he's suffered through in the past. 

Look like they're panicking at the thought of having a dead Fake on their hands even though they were so goddamned keen to make that happen themselves not that long ago.

Makes it real easy for Michael and Gavin to get one over on them, little practical application of fists to faces and down they go.

No one else around, and Gavin takes the lead. Little smile on his face as he tells Michael to stay low and follow him and they'll be out of this place in no time.

The worst thing about it all is that he's right.

There aren't a lot of people around to start with, so that helps.

Just Ricky and the Tweedles and a few others, including this Boss Michael never saw.

“Oh, that's just rude of them,” Gavin says, when they come across Geoff's car these guys took as a reward. 

Looks like someone took affront to the Fake AH Logo on the hood and went at it with spray paint.

The rest of the car looks to be in one piece, though, which is the important part. Michael leaves Gavin to fuss over the car while Michael takes care of the others parked nearby. Uses a knife he took off one of the Tweedles and slashes tires here and there and everywhere.

Gives Gavin a look when he makes his way back to him and shrugs. “Jersey, remember?”

Gavin snorts because he knows Michael's hardly from one of the more crime-riddled parts of Jersey. That people tend to forget Jersey's a fucking state, but you know. Why remind them when you ca let them think whatever they want? Let them come to their own damn conclusions and play off of that.

“Let's get out of here, yeah?”

========

They run into a goddamn fleet of cars half a mile out. Fake AH Crew logos on half of them, and a sleek black Zentorno at the front of the pack.

“God's sake,” Gavin laughs, because there's another hideous purple and orange car flanking it. 

Michael doesn't look over at Gavin, no, because that laugh's a little too loud, wild, and it's been a hell of a day for them.

Michael watches the cars ahead of him. Sees Ryan get out of his Zentorno, Jeremy a beat behind him.

Gavin makes this little noise in his throat, eyes glued to Jeremy keeping pace with Ryan. (Michael doesn't say anything about that either.)

Jeremy might have been wearing body armor when he got hit, but that shit fails sometimes. Defects in the manufacturing process you don't know about until it's too late or maybe something else goes wrong and you don't shrug off that bullet the way you think you can.

And Gavin, okay.

Gavin's been acting this whole time like he knew without a doubt Jeremy was fine. That the fucking vest had done its job, kept him safe and alive, but the fact of the matter is that he didn't.

Neither of them did, and Jeremy hadn't gotten up after he'd been hit. Had just laid there on the ground while Gavin did his best to protect Michael until there was no choice left but to go with Ricky and the Tweedles.

“Hey,” Michael says, because Gavin's just watching Ryan and Jeremy get closer, makes no move of his own to get out and meet them. “You guys ever think about holding an intervention for Jeremy about this whole 'Rimmy Tim' bullshit?”

Gavin snorts, fucking chokes on his laughter. Gives Michael an attempt at a reproving look, but it's Gavin so it's nowhere as effective as he thinks it is.

“Didn't take,” he says, like that's just how it is with Jeremy, and honestly, Michael didn't expect anything else. “He's a stubborn bastard.”

Like that's a bad thing to be in a city like this.

========

“For the record,” Michael says, preemptive on his part even though he knows it won't do any good, “they didn't show up at my place, so you can save the part of the lecture about how shit the security is there, if it's all the same to you.”

Ryan looks a little like he wants to throttle Michael, which you know. Fair, really.

“Also - “ 

Ryan's hand flashes out, and Michael holds still when he feels fingers wrap around his forearm, careful, gentle. 

“Ryan - “

“Your security's still shit,” Ryan says, absently, almost like a reflex as he examines the marks on Michael's wrists, red and raw and stinging like a motherfucker even now. “But I get your point.”

There's no such thing as a safe place in Los Santos – anywhere, really – so you do what you can to minimize potential risks. Play it safe, _smart_ , and hope like hell that's going to be enough.

There's something in the way Ryan looks at him that has Michael's eyes narrowing. 

“Whatever you're thinking, knock it off.”

Ryan sighs, and releases his hold on Michael.

“They didn't know who you are this time,” he says, weight to his words like he knows how this goes. “That's going to change.”

The Fakes have made a lot of enemies over the years to get where they are. Michael's heard about a few of them, stories one of them will tell, offhand comments about some incident. Michael not being a complete idiot and doing a little research into them, Los Santos back when all of this started.

It's...sweet that Ryan's trying to warn Michael off like this. Let him know that hey, he's in pretty deep with these idiots and that probably wasn't the smartest move on Michael's part. That maybe he should be thinking of cutting his losses while he can and all that bullshit, you know? Be smart about things.

Problem is, if Michael was smart he never would have stayed in Los Santos. Would have gone back home to Jersey, sucked it up and gotten his old job back. Toed the line and played it safe and been the most miserable piece of shit on the planet.

“No shit,” Michael says, because fucking really. 

Ryan looks...confused, as though this little talk he had planned isn't really going the way he expected.

“Look,” Michael says, tries to use small words because Ryan looks like he needs them right now. “You think I don't know that? You think I didn't consider it after that first time you broke into my place?”

Only an idiot wouldn't have, getting some fucker like the Vagabond in their face and this unspoken understanding that if anyone found out it was the last thing they'd do?

Yeah.

Michael knew back then, saw it in the way Ryan watched everything he did like a hawk. This bit of steel in his eyes even when he was being an arrogant prick, expecting his reputation to spook Michael into playing nice for him. 

And maybe he should be more concerned about this, all the ties with the Fakes he has now. Not just this thing between him and Ryan but the way Gavin and Jeremy have of butting into his life. Jack and Geoff and even fucking Trevor and Lindsay from time to time. The members of B Team who give him secretive little smiles that drive Ryan nuts because there's no way any of them should have met Michael before. Should be worried about how it's all going to bite him in the ass one day, but he isn't.

Or, okay, that's a fucking lie, because he _is_ , just - 

You do what you can to minimize the risk sure, but you don't turn your back on something good because there's a possibility it might go bad on you if you want to live a life worth living. Don't let it become a regret to take with you when all's said and done.

“You're an idiot,” Michael says, because those are small words Ryan's familiar with coming from him. Should be able to get through that thick skull of his, understand on some level. “But I knew that going into this, so I guess that makes me just as bad.”

Ryan's looking at Michael like he still doesn't get why Michael hasn't done the smart thing and left. Fucking cannot comprehend what possible reason Michael has for staying here and making a target of himself the longer he does.

Asshole breaks Michael's heart when he gets like this, because there's a reason for it. Same one that had Gavin and Jeremy goddamned stalking him at the beginning of this. Doing their best to protect Ryan from getting in too deep with Michael - getting hurt – before they realized there was really only one way to do that. 

“Yeah, we're real dumb,” Ryan says, like he's still expecting Michael to come to his senses one day and so damn guilty that he hasn't, taking what he thinks he can get and grateful for it and so fucking stupid. “Like. Unbelievably so.”

Michael smiles, crooked little thing, because Ryan's killing him with this bullshit. So clueless and breaking his heart all over again. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael says, and drags Ryan down for a kiss because maybe one day Ryan will fucking understand why Michael refuses to give this up so easily.


End file.
